As a student whose family struggles with disabilities, I felt conflicted when I learned that demand for Disability Support Services at GW doubled over the past few years. I believe that reduced stigma among people of our generation, raised awareness in educational spaces and improved services for disabled students at universities have had a genuinely positive impact on disabled students‘ experiences on campus. Still, it is impossible to ignore the rising trend among students of my generation to use the lowering diagnostic criterion for attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder and autism, along with lax requirements for proving disabilities, as a means to game the system. Disabilities carry life-altering consequences for affected individuals and their families — they are not to be taken lightly, nor broadly defined. GW must wrestle with this uncomfortable truth, whether or not the story of my family fits the aesthetic narrative of disability our generation has been conditioned to see. 

Over the past decade, the number of college students with disabilities has risen by more than 50 percent nationwide. Among young people living in the United States, autism diagnoses have increased by nearly 300 percent and ADHD by around 42 percent. Data consistently shows that students in wealthier areas — where parents have the resources to spend tens of thousands of dollars on various diagnostic tests — have more academic accommodations. It has led to a phenomenon of affluent families “shopping” for disabilities, so their children can have extended time on examinations, special testing rooms and accommodations in their residence halls. Abusing the system will be detrimental for students as they enter the workforce, as employers expect recent college graduates to meet tight deadlines and manage their time well. Thus, students who game the system will enter the job market with increased stigma surrounding their abilities to accomplish tasks. 

Students who game the system do not always do so intentionally. Online resources and self-diagnosing have led many college students to seek professional help after convincing themselves they have a neurodevelopmental disorder. Consequently, students conflate symptoms like inattentiveness or social anxiety — feelings we all experience at times — with structural impairments that require extra help. The system encourages students to pursue such diagnoses, especially since people receive accommodations like extra time on tests, who then often outscore those who do not. 

At GW, the process for proving disabilities is not stringent. Providing proof of disability simply requires one of three documents: a doctor’s note, an accommodation letter from a previous institution or a completed disability verification form that includes a provider’s signature. It is easy, therefore, for students to pursue confirmation of their disability — whether the intent is malicious or not — and receive DSS accommodations. The rapid pace by which accommodations have grown on college campuses implies disability is a common, minor inconvenience on one’s life. In doing so, the stories of individuals who suffer with severe, debilitating disabilities are drowned out by the flood of new diagnoses, changing the scope of research and treatments as well.

This abuse in the medical system that encourages over diagnosing undermines the struggles of actually disabled individuals. My brother, who has a low-functioning autism and ADHD diagnosis, suffers the real consequences of these diseases. He is nonverbal apart from a few select words and cannot advocate for himself. Due to his behaviors, he has to live in a government-funded home for adults with learning disabilities. The workers of that home, under a Medicaid-sponsored program formerly known as the Young Adult Institute, now YAI: Seeing Beyond Disability, are extremely underpaid, often leaving due to financial burden and an intense workload. Every day, he must take specific doses of different medications for various symptoms — the effects ranging from regulating irritability to preventing tonic-clonic seizures. The other boys in his adult living home also share similar experiences. To lump these people into the same category as fully independent college students is a dishonest definition. The rapid rise of the autism and ADHD phenomenon on college campuses, including at GW, minimizes the harsh realities of social work for disabled people. 

My brother can never live a normal life because of his condition, and my family has lived through all the debilitating consequences of serious disabilities like autism. It hurts me deeply to think of rich people and others taking advantage of the system so their children get more accommodations or for self-diagnosing disability as a part of their identity. It can feel like a slap in the face that overshadows people like my brother and the hard work my family puts in to care for him and his needs. I know there are many students at GW who need DSS accommodations, but we need to ensure we have a solid understanding of how serious these disabilities are and not downplay them. Oftentimes, especially online, I see people claim that autism is not a disease and does not need a cure. If they were to hear my brother’s story or live a day in the life of someone who has a debilitating disability, I wonder if they would still feel the same way. The rhetoric used online to describe disabilities downplays their seriousness, which fosters an ignorant culture that can result in people using the label for personal gain.

This kind of broken system has drastic consequences on research for treatments and cures as well. When labels like autism become so broad as to encompass everyone from people who struggle with social interactions and have special interests to those who will never develop the ability to speak, the word no longer carries weight. While autism does range in severity, it is still a serious neurodevelopmental disability, not a label to self-diagnose minor social or emotional stressors. As such, little effort is put into finding tangible solutions to improve the quality of life for people with low-functioning autism and other disabilities. The focus shifts away from them and instead on treatments and therapies for the higher-function end of the spectrum, which continues to stray further away from people like my brother with every new DSM manual authored by the United States medical community. More and more, doctors and the medical community continue to cast autism as a multi-dimensional mosaic of traits, not a disease. Thus, the suffering on the severe end of autism is seen as not needing a cure or treatment, leaving families like mine hopeless.

The breathtaking pace by which the share of students eligible for accommodations at GW has risen implies the University is not immune to this phenomenon. The school has an obligation to treat disabilities seriously for the equitable distribution of resources. The Americans with Disabilities Act, enacted in 1990 by George H.W. Bush, was made to foster a fair learning environment — to give disabled students a fair shot. GW cannot tolerate the abuse of this system, and the process for obtaining accommodations must be more stringent — including more requirements — to reflect the severity of the situation.

I say all this to spotlight a part of the disabled community often overlooked. I want to remind people that disabilities are not to be glamorized and made into a trend, nor are they to be used for academic benefit. Rather, disabilities carry real suffering for real people and have tremendous consequences on their lives and the lives of their caretakers. The increasing lack of seriousness surrounding disabilities reflects the brokenness of the medical system and a failure on society’s part to recognize overlooked and vulnerable people. GW must understand the true severity of disability and recognize that the unprecedented portion of the student body receiving DSS accommodations hurts our understanding of disability as a whole.